The Unlikeable Demon Hunter: Sting (Nava Katz Book 2)

by Deborah Wilde

  13

  The clock showed mid-afternoon by the time I woke up for good. Alone. I rolled over onto Rohan’s side of the bed, pressing my face into his pillow. Even the faint trace of his unique scent smelled better than dark chocolate, clean grass after a heavy rain, or the woodsy musk in the air after two of you have come your brains out. Was it wrong of me to relish this intensely intimate access to him? Or only wrong of me to wonder who else was in this club?

  Sitting up with a stretch, I raked my fingers through my curls, tumbling loose on my shoulders, trying to comb them into some sort of style. Then I retied the belt on my robe, and padded out of the bedroom in search of some coffee. I hoped a caffeine jolt would help with my lingering confusion about whatever was going on between Rohan and me.

  I followed the sound of music, stopping in the doorway to drink in the sight of Rohan at the piano, head bent, his hair falling into his eyes, fully focused on the keyboard. His white T-shirt was so worn I glimpsed his brown skin through the sheer patches. My fingers twitched, longing to feel the play of hard muscle under soft fabric. “Good morning.”

  The soft look he gave me was immediately wiped away in favor of a shark-like smile. My heart sped up, thinking this was a prelude to a very good morning.

  “Afternoon, actually.”

  So much for my second chance. I didn’t react to the judgment in Samson’s voice but any fond thoughts about Rohan fled. I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d planned last night to maneuver me here to be found by Samson now.

  “I didn’t realize you boys had a play date today.” I stretched, making sure my robe gaped open enough to flash Samson a bit of boob, then swiped the coffee mug from Samson’s hand as I sat down next to him. Thigh to thigh.

  A wrong note sounded from the piano. Not sure whose smirk was bigger at that, Samson’s or mine. I suffered zero delusions that Samson’s cocky glee was about my unique charms. It had everything to do with Rohan and whatever made Samson despise him. But I’d use anything I could to my advantage.

  I crossed my legs, my robe riding up to the border of peep show territory. “You’re looking good after our late night.” He was charmingly rumpled.

  Samson ignored my compliment. “Enjoy your sleepover?”

  Damage control. With compliments and physical contact both failures I selected and discarded a dozen ways to regain his good graces. No way was I going to be sidelined from this mission.

  “She did,” Rohan piped up over his playing. “I have a more comfortable bed and Lolita does like her comfort.”

  I swallowed my sour mouthful of coffee. “But it’s morning now. A brand new day.”

  The barest flash of hurt crossed Rohan’s face before he glanced down, testing out a chord. I had no idea if it was real or put on for the sake of the mission but either way, I had to stay in character. Being Rasha came before any irrational desire to spare Rohan’s feelings.

  “Tell me about your film.” I pressed the coffee mug back into Samson’s hands, letting my own linger for a moment. “I’d love to come watch you on set. If you’ll have me.”

  “I’m shooting in Český Krumlov the next couple days,” Samson said. “Then back here Tuesday for the final day.”

  “We could work on the tracks after that,” Rohan said.

  I gripped Samson’s thigh. “You’re going to sing on the theme song? That will make it epic.”

  He studied me for a long moment. “You could come Tuesday to watch the big chase scene.”

  Finally, a freaking bone.

  Rohan’s song turned from a major to a minor key. I shivered at the darkness that seemed to drive it, but I wasn’t stupid enough to take my focus off of Samson. “Hot boys and fast cars? Big yes. Is there going to be a wrap party?”

  “That night,” Samson said.

  I leaned in, my boobs front and center. “What does a girl have to do to get an invite?”

  Rohan snorted.

  We both looked at him, me to will him to quit disrupting my flow, and Samson to, well, who knew what was in his head.

  Rohan seemed to have lost interest in our conversation, erasing something on the sheet music. That placated Samson who didn’t notice that Snowflake white-knuckled the pencil.

  I trailed my fingers up Samson’s arm. “I’d love to help you celebrate wrapping.”

  Samson broke into a slow smile. “That could be arranged.”

  I relaxed.

  “I’m performing,” Rohan said.

  Count me in. Though I shrugged as if it didn’t matter, conscious of Samson monitoring my reaction.

  Samson raised his eyebrows. “Accepted Forrest’s invitation, did you?”

  “Give the cast and crew a tease of the theme song. Seemed like a no-brainer.”

  I allowed myself a second to enjoy the excitement that my conjurings of an on-stage Snowflake brought on, then stood up, using Samson’s shoulder for balance. If he got a final cheap thrill, all the better. “I need to get dressed.”

  “Your clothes are in the bedroom,” Rohan said.

  I stumbled at his words. Had he moved me in? I hustled into his bedroom, breathing a sigh of relief that he’d only brought me up clothes for today. The dress pants and blouse weren’t something I’d have worn around Samson normally. Maybe Rohan didn’t plan this? Wondering would make me crazy. I slipped into my clothes and the shoes he’d brought. He’d thoughtfully fetched some make-up, too. I needed the mask.

  I strolled into the living room, armor in place. “Will you text me later?” Asking not demanding since demon or psychopath, Samson would respond better to being accorded the position of power. “Tuesday is much too far away for further conversations in taste-making.”

  Samson scratched his head. “Now see, I remember it as further conversations in tasting.”

  “Lucky for you, I’m rather fluent in tasting.”

  “I’m quite the linguist myself.” He grinned at me and I squirmed like a cat trying to coat itself in a pool of sunshine.

  “Don’t want to keep you from anything, Lolita,” Rohan said.

  I dragged my eyes back to his, having forgotten he was in the room. “Right. Stuff to do.” Okay, that came out breathier than I intended, but damn.

  Samson chuckled softly.

  I picked up my coat. “What are you up to?” I asked Rohan.

  He tapped his sheet music. “I need to work for a few hours.” Perfect. I’d fill him in on Samson’s black sun tattoo later.

  “Bye, boys. Have fun.” I shot Rohan a behave look. He busied himself with his music but a half-grin ghosted over his lips.

  I escaped before I embarrassed myself, nodding at the bodyguard planted outside Rohan’s room and recognizing him as one of Samson’s men on duty last night.

  Intent on checking my email to see if Dr. Gelman had replied, I headed for the elevator. Both missions–Ari and Samson–had to be completed before we flew home. If Samson wrapped in a few days, that meant the clock had begun to tick in earnest.

  Back in my room, I checked my phone to find that she had in fact emailed back. She’d invited me to meet her for breakfast at Café Louvre on Monday morning. I fired off a fast RSVP, then opened the email from Leo entitled “ARE YOU KIDDING?”

  The first link contained tabloid photos of me and Samson dancing. His head was thrown back with a wild grin and my hair splayed out in all directions like an open fan. The headline read “Samson King tears it up with Mystery Brunette.” I scanned the captions, but none of them identified me by name.

  Yet.

  I twisted my ring around, running through the ramifications of the media exposure, and therefore Samson finding out my real name. Even if he already knew there was a female Rasha, he wouldn’t connect my name to that person. The Brotherhood kept our identities carefully guarded. Same for any personal information, which I’d hope would keep Ari and my parents out of Samson’s reach should he prove a demon. The chances of history repeating itself and Samson going after my brother like Asmodeus had done were slim.
Though that didn’t mean I wouldn’t put a back-up plan in place, just in case.

  I scanned some of the other links she’d sent, pausing for a long moment on a photo of Samson stroking his finger over my body paint, a focused expression on his face with the caption “Does the King seek a Queen?”

  I phoned Leo. “Queen calling. How many jealous comments am I getting?”

  “Eh. Haters gonna hate. Enjoy your fifteen minutes, baby.”

  “Oh, I will. Though Snowflake is gonna have a coronary when he sees this.”

  “Points for Snowflake,” Leo said. “I don’t like you getting close to Samson either.”

  “No. Rohan gets no points. Fuck buddies do not require nor are eligible for points. Unless they’re Frequent Flier.” I kicked off the flats Rohan had thoughtfully brought up for me and sank onto the mattress. A highly disappointing sensation after Rohan’s bed. “I always knew I’d be famous.”

  “For tap?” Leo snorted in derision.

  I massaged my instep. “I’d rock fame. You know how people always say fame wouldn’t change them? Screw that. I’d become impossible. Treating everyone like little people. Reminding them they’re not worthy, but would be eligible for worthy-status with the appropriate bribe.”

  “’Kay, you get you’re sounding like Samson, right?” Leo asked.

  I switched my massage to my other foot. “All right, yes, but unlike him, I’d leave everyone with a warm glow for having been in my presence, instead of misery, humiliation, and world domination. Nava Katz. The gift that keeps on giving.”

  “Like herpes,” Leo agreed cheerfully. “Speaking of STIs, did you sleep with Samson? Because I recognized that ecstatic look on your face.”

  “You did. But nope.”

  “Too busy servicing your rock star last night?”

  “That didn’t happen either.”

  She gasped. “Did you displease him? Were you displaced?”

  “Since it doesn’t get better than me, I was not displaced.” Not yet, Cuntessa whispered. I mentally chucked a rock at her head. “I may have displeased, but that’s foreplay with us. What’s up with you?”

  “Explain something to me, and use small descriptive words so I understand. You’re on a top secret mission, very thrilling and adrenaline-inducing, with the boy you’ve been having hot monkey sex with, under the guise of being the girl who is supposed to be having hot monkey sex with him, while being on ecstasy, and there was no sex to be had?”

  “Monkey or otherwise. That is correct.”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  I stretched out my neck and shoulders. “I was fatigued. Even I need a night off now and then.”

  “Did you not look at him last night?”

  “I did, but I’m wondering how you saw him.”

  “Photos, d’uh. The paparazzi love Rohan.”

  Putting Leo on speakerphone, I followed the next set of links she texted me. “Rohan’s back and more delicious than ever!” read one website. He’d been a busy little beaver last night. No one chick was featured twice in the photos. Commodities indeed.

  Please let these photos be the first thing Poppy sees this morning.

  I paused over the snaps of Rohan chummy-chummy with Samson. Or, more correctly, Samson chummy with Rohan. I hadn’t imagined that look of hatred on his face last night. What was he playing at?

  Leo gave a dreamy sigh. “Letting his rock star fly free. I would totally tap that.”

  “You would have tapped that when you were thirteen. This is not news.”

  “Nava.” Leo wasn’t buying my stalling.

  I twisted around to prop my feet against my headboard. “Lightning girl is here.”

  “I know you are. So?”

  I gave a strangled laugh. “No, honey. The actual one.”

  Her sputter was gratifying. “Who is she?”

  “A beautiful genius. Very nice.”

  “Shit. Total nightmare. Are they dating?”

  “No. But there is definitely something between them. A tenderness. Which I don’t want from him, but sistah, it’s messing with me getting some.”

  Her “then you need to get back on that, beyatch,” sounded even less believable.

  I tucked my arm underneath my head, staring up at the ceiling. “Ever wish we could hide away until the sun explodes destroying all life as we know it?”

  “Would we be hiding out with a lifetime supply of potato chips and vibrator batteries?” Leo asked.

  “We could.”

  “Hmm, still no.”

  “Why not?” I said.

  “Because we are socialized, highly functional human beings who don’t hide.”

  “No, we’re not.”

  Leo snorted her donkey-braying laugh. “Not even a little bit. Still. No hiding.”

  I sighed. “Fine. Everything good with you? For reals? Get your boy part fix yet?”

  “Nope. Last night was all about the delights of girl bits.”

  “Sweet. Well, I better go prep for my meeting. Got some possible intel to follow up on.”

  “Good luck. Shmugs.” She blew a loud smack into the phone. “Don’t let the bastards get you down.”

  Damn, I loved my bestie. “Schmugs.”

  The second I hung up, I called Baruch back at the Vancouver chapter house. The top Rasha in terms of weapons and training, Baruch Ya’ari stood about six and half feet tall, with shoulder-length black hair and sharp blue eyes. Combined with the hemp bracelets he wore, he always reminded me of a surfer Special Ops guy.

  Rasha weren’t just hunters. Their duties involved everything from training initiates and designing weaponry like Baruch did, intelligence gathering on demons like Rohan and Drio did via the in-house intelligence department, or coding surveillance software and top secret databases like Kane.

  Baruch had been assigned as my personal fighting instructor, a.k.a. the one with the best chance of quickly giving me moves to keep me alive. I adored him, even though he gave me enough bruises to warrant calling a helpline.

  “Shalom.”

  I smiled at his Israeli accent rumbling over the line.

  “Boker tov, Tree Trunk.” Baruch bore my nickname for him with the same stoicism he handled everything. Well, everything that wasn’t Ms. Clara, the person in charge of all Brotherhood administrative business in Canada. Rasha, rabbi, Executive whether living or visiting dealt with her. She also moonlighted as one of Vancouver’s top dominatrixes. Mad whip skills.

  Demons were drawn to instability, be it civil unrest or natural disasters. The fault lines along the west coast appealed to them, which was why years ago, Vancouver had founded a chapter. Since then, we’d become the main Canadian hub, overseen by Rabbi Abrams in theory and Ms. Clara in all the ways that counted.

  “Tell me you have a plan for dealing with those photos,” he said.

  I scrunched up my face. “I do.” Carry on as planned. “I also have a favor to ask. Can you please keep an eye on Ari until this job is over?”

  Tree Trunk sighed. “I’m going back to Jerusalem,” he said. “Back to HQ.”

  “You can’t!”

  “Maspik, Nava,” he said gently. “I can’t stay as your personal trainer either. The Brotherhood needs me.”

  My lip wobbled. I didn’t mean to be a wuss, but for the past several weeks, Baruch, Rohan, Drio, and Kane had been my anchors in this funhouse I now called my life. Kane would be sticking around, since he was based out of Vancouver, and I’d be happy for Drio to move to an ice floe in the Arctic, but Baruch? I needed my Tree Trunk. I felt safer knowing he was around, guiding me.

  You’d think that being a chosen demon hunter would be broadening my horizons. I felt like it was shrinking my world.

  “I’ll put Kane on it,” he assured me.

  Great. Babysitting Ari for yet another reason. If I didn’t get Ari Rasha’d soon and all magicked up, I feared the two of them might end in a double homicide.

  “Beseder?” he asked.

  “Okay
,” I agreed. I thanked Baruch, making him promise to stay in touch. Tamping down any residual Tree Trunk sadness, I fired up my laptop. One quick call to room service to order a club sandwich, fries, and chocolate cake, since the Brotherhood was paying, and I got to work tracking down the significance, if any, of the black sun. Even without access to Demon Club’s databases, the connections I found floored me.

  Coming up for air a couple of hours later, I grabbed my pile of notes, stuffing them into my laptop bag to transport them up to Rohan’s room in the event Samson was still around, so he wouldn’t see them. Bag slung diagonally across my chest, I stepped into the elevator and found Drio. “Nice photos,” he smirked. “High much?”

  “Took one for the team.” I tapped my bag. “Wait and be amazed. Where did you end up last night?”

  “Took the boys to an S&M dungeon.”

  I looked at him with horrified fascination. “Are they still alive?”

  “Baby S&M.” Such disdain. The place must not have met his standards of true sadism.

  “Sucks to be you.”

  Drio shrugged. “T-Roy spent most of the night with a ball gag in his mouth so that was an improvement.”

  “You mean Troy?”

  “Troy doesn’t come with the cred he so desperately craves. He’s T-Roy now,” he said. I laughed. “Logan is the one constantly texting.” He pitched his voice lower in impersonation. “Dope messages bespelling importance, bro.”

  I stumbled. Drio was cracking me up. What bizarro world had I landed in? “That doesn’t even make sense.”

  “Yeah. I try not to listen when he speaks. My IQ has dropped ten points on this mission.”

  We stepped out of the elevator, bound for Rohan’s suite at the far end of the hall. “You think they’re,” I pitched my voice lower, “human?”

  “I don’t know what to think.” He shrugged out of his jacket, his quiet tone matching mine. “Part of me thinks the two guys closest to Samson have to be demons. But in all the time I’ve spent with them, they haven’t made a single suspicious move. No sign of any evil agenda.”

  “Could they be under strict orders to behave? In case they blow Samson’s cover?”